


Grounds For Dismissal

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: dw_straybunnies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's never wise to infuriate your employer. Particularly when he owns the Internet and doesn't share your views on charity calendars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounds For Dismissal

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a randomly-generated [prompt](http://dw-straybunnies.livejournal.com/45461.html?thread=254869) on dw-straybunnies: _Adam Mitchell / Adric / handcuffs_.

Henry van Statten looked down once more at the calendar that lay on his desk. With the tip of his silver-plated biro, he flipped through the months, as if unwilling to risk contamination by direct contact. 

"And who," he demanded, "is responsible for this trainwreck?" 

Adam Mitchell and Diana Goddard exchanged worried glances. Since they were the only two people in the room, it was plain that however much trouble was in the offing, it would be a miracle if they avoided all of it. There was also the worrying question of how much their fuming and capricious employer knew, or guessed, already. 

"I think it was Meredith Wilcox who came up with the idea," Adam mumbled. "In the legal department." He glanced at Diana for confirmation. 

"It was for charity," Diana reluctantly added. "Her little cousin needs treatment, and her family..." 

"Charity? Charity?!" Van Statten thumped the desk, his face growing redder by the second. "That goes against every principle this great nation was founded on! If this woman wants money for medical treatment she can earn it honestly, or not at all. Or the kid can earn it himself. Herself. Whichever. She's fired. I'll have her memory wiped and leave her by the roadside in Washington DC..." He broke off, momentarily distracted. "Where the hell else begins with W?" 

"Wichita, sir?" Goddard suggested. "Wilmington?" 

"Whatever." Van Statten turned to Adam, affecting an approximation of an upper-class British accent. "So you thought it was a 'jolly good idea', I suppose. 'Top-hole, what, what?'" 

"Well, er..." 

The accent vanished, as did the tissue-thin bonhomie. "Don't try and weasel around with me, Mitchell. Do you think I haven't seen Mr July?" He flipped the calendar to the correct place. "'Prisoner and Escort.' Is that cockamamie thing what policemen wear in London?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Except they wear them on their heads," Goddard couldn't help adding. The way things were going, she might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. 

Her employer hurled a solid marble ashtray past her head, missing by inches. "I don't care if they wear them up their butts!" He turned his ire back in Adam's direction. "Goddamn Brits. No wonder we kicked your pansy asses back in 1776. Listen, Fauntleroy. Wasting my time and money posing for this damn commie calendar's one thing. Doing it with the artefacts in my vault is cause for instant termination." He leaned forward, his rage hardening into a cold and deadly fury. "And you _posed_ with the live specimen. Have you any idea what kind of harm you could have done? The possibilities of contamination from even a touch..." 

Goddard silently thanked her stars that she'd managed to delete that particular sequence from the security vault cameras. Given what had happened after the picture had been taken, contamination wasn't a possibility, but a stone-cold certainty. Just watching it had made her feel vaguely dirty — and left her with a guilty regret that she hadn't been able to keep a copy for private study later. 

"...And what if the specimen had escaped? Then what?" 

"He was secure at all times, sir," Adam muttered. 

"Secure? You call those handcuffs secure? That's an **alien** down there, boy. Just because it looks sorta human, don't let it fool you. Who knows what its capabilities are? Maybe it could have busted out of those handcuffs in two seconds flat and then where'd you be?" 

_I've got a good guess,_ Goddard thought, but forbore to speak. 

"He seemed—" Adam began. 

"And there's another thing. 'He'? Next you'll be telling me you've got some disgusting pet name for it." Van Statten glanced down at the calendar again. "You sicken me." He pressed a buzzer on his desk, and waited until two burly security guards had entered. "Take him away, wipe his memory, and leave him by the roadside in Milwaukee, Madison, Miami... someplace beginning with M. He can have these as a souvenir." He tossed a pair of handcuffs to one of the guards. "Make sure he's wearing them when you drop him off." 

The guard saluted, and left. Van Statten turned to his other errant employee. 

"And Goddard, as for you..." 

Diana waited for the worst, her heart pounding. 

"...You can stay. Get replacements for Wilcox and Mitchell." He glanced down at the calendar. "I want every copy of that filth burnt by nightfall. Got it?" 

"Yes, sir," Diana said. _That means I'll have to break the news to Adric,_ she added inwardly. _Poor kid. He won't take it well._

"Might I ask a question, sir?" she added. "Why?" 

"Why did I keep you on?" 

Diana nodded. 

Van Statten tapped the calendar. "Miss October. Pretty hot. But you go within fifty feet of that docking probe again and you'll be out of the door so fast your feet won't touch the ground. Got that?"


End file.
